


Verity

by bauble



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 05:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16362053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Written for Inception Reverse Bang, inspired by riais' lovelyart





	Verity

The mark pauses in his meandering route across the courtyard to speak with a blonde woman—one of his lieutenants, if Arthur's research is correct. They're too far away for Arthur to catch any of the conversation, but his ocular implants adjust to the distance and zoom in while they talk. 

The dome that protects the compound from constant rain, electrical storms, and predatory wildlife also serves to cool the area, making the oppressive heat livable by human standards. Even cutting-edge climate-control technology can only do so much with a location like this, however, and the mark is clad in clothing which leaves little of his body to the imagination. 

The mark has a tattoo sleeve down his left arm and a scar on his right shoulder. From the few recent photos Arthur has been able to dig up, he also knows that the mark has a cut across the bridge of his nose (acquired within the last few weeks), a large tattoo running from the base of his neck down his back, and a jagged scratch on his right leg. The back tattoo and leg scratch are new, received within the past few weeks.

Arthur shakes himself as the mark begins to move again. It's a mistake to devote such attention to physical details. A distraction, an indulgence. He should know better.

The mark doesn't sleep in the barracks with the rest of the compound's personnel. His quarters are located in the command center. The security is impressive, but Arthur is prepared.

Arthur waits a few moments before following the mark inside, bypassing the alarms and staying out of sight. When he reaches the target's quarters, he's surprised to find it tidy and devoid of all personal artifacts. There's a kitchen that clearly hasn't seen much use, a living room with an entertainment display, and a large bedroom, door left ajar. 

Arthur enters the bedroom cautiously, but there's nothing waiting for him other than a neatly made bed and a shirt on the chair. He can hear the shower running behind the adjoining bathroom door. 

The room is stocked with standard furniture that comes with pre-fabricated bedroom modules, nothing of note beyond a silver briefcase on the dresser. Even the clothing hanging in the closet is generic, fitted to the mark's body but otherwise unremarkable.

The person who lives in this apartment could be anyone, no one, a ghost. The mark is none of those things—a fact Arthur knows all too well. But then again, people change. Arthur has.

The water doesn't shut off but Arthur hears the approach of footsteps a moment before the door opens. The mark steps out, completely dressed and holding a gun in his hand. "Who are you and what—" the mark stops. "Arthur?"

"Sorry," Arthur says, and shoots.

* * * * *

Arthur's spaceship is a tiny, equipped with a state of the art cloaking device and a hummingbird-like engine which works with precision and speed. The downside is that it's barely capable of launching into orbit and unable to make journeys of any significant length.

In spite of its cramped size and other limitations, he's grown fond. He feels a palpable sense of relief every time he returns, as if all his tensions could melt through the bulkhead walls into the vast emptiness of space.

The ship is en route to meet the cargo vessel Saito arranged to transport Arthur's bounty back to Chiyoda. In addition to the autopilot, MAL is on hand to oversee operations and make course corrections if needed.

"I'm going back to the holding area," Arthur says to the android, whose spherical gray form glows in the light of the cockpit instrument displays. "Ring me if anything comes up."

"Understood," MAL replies.

By the time Arthur reaches the holding bay, the mark is already awake in his cell. Arthur frowns; he only used a half-dosage, but the mark should still be unconscious.

"You're dealing with a drug smuggler," the mark says, as if reading Arthur's thoughts. "Didn't you suspect that I'd have developed some immunities?"

"I did try to locate a recent health profile," Arthur replies before he can stop himself. "Nothing turned up. That left me with a choice: a mainstream sedative that has low incidences of side-effects. Or a more exotic, riskier variant. Perhaps you'd like to try seizures and bleeding out through the ears."

The mark smiles. "Your concern is touching." The cut across his nose is mostly healed, won't scar. 

Arthur looks away. "You shouldn't be awake." He hadn't planned for what he'd do if the mark awoke prematurely--sloppy. 

"I live to inconvenience you." The mark stands and approaches Arthur, far too loose-limbed and predatory for a man in a cage. "Aren't you going to offer me a bit of hospitality? I've the worst case of dry-mouth you could imagine."

"Or I could just tranquilize you again."

"I wouldn't recommend it," the mark says, voice airy but eyes sharp. "Doubling doses of the compound I suspect you used could lead to rather unpleasant side-effects. Not as dramatic as bleeding out from my ears, perhaps, but ones I'd rather avoid all the same. Unless you don't care about the condition in which I reach our final destination."

"You'll arrive in one piece, intact. But your comfort is not my priority."

"You've made that abundantly obvious," the mark says, gaze running over all the walls of his cell.

"In case you're checking, there's no way to escape," Arthur says. "I designed this holding bay myself."

"No?" the mark replies, tone mild. "I take it you've been doing this a while, then."

Arthur stares at the mark, abruptly reminded of how perceptive he actually is. The banter that seems casual and affably confused is anything but. Every word is carefully chosen to extract as much information as possible, the mind behind those steel-grey eyes constantly calculating. With someone like this, even engaging in conversation is a dangerous act.

"I won't shoot you again unless you try to escape," Arthur says. He turns, ready to walk away.

"You've captured me. Transported me off of Kitanomaru," the mark's voice rings out behind him. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything," Arthur says, and chances a glance back over his shoulder. "It's not personal."

A mistake. The mark locks eyes with him, gaze as arresting as it ever was. "Everything between us is personal."

Arthur's jaw tightens. "There's nothing between us." 

He's at the door when the mark says, softer this time, "A glass of water would be greatly appreciated. Please, Arthur."

Arthur strides through the door and thinks repeatedly: he shouldn't. He shouldn't.

* * * * *

"Thank you. Is this your ship?" the mark asks when Arthur passes him the water glass. "Y-6 model, part of the Espion line, yes?"

Arthur should go. Then again, leaving the mark unwatched with glass is imprudent. Downright idiotic, given his background as a pickpocket, lock-breaker, and extremely resourceful thief. A realization Arthur makes after it's too late to snatch the glass back. This is what happens when he doesn't follow standard protocol; he makes mistakes.

The mark lowers the drink from his mouth. Arthur glances away, but not quickly enough to miss a bead of water trickling over the center of his full lower lip, down his chin. Some things change--but that mouth, unfortunately for Arthur, has not.

"Not feeling very chatty?" the mark asks. "Perhaps you should let me go if I fail to entertain you."

"That's not how this works."

"No? Because I think this works any way you would like it to."

Arthur shakes his head. "I have a contract to fulfill."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I'm not an assassin."

"You're delivering me to someone, then," the mark guesses. "The people you're delivering me to—will they kill me?"

Arthur sucks in a breath. "I don't know."

"Not law enforcement then. At least, not on the books." The mark pauses to think, then looks up at Arthur. "And you're still going to hand me over?"

"Those are the terms." Arthur studies the ground; there's a stain near the toe of his left boot. He'll get MAL to clean it later. "And when I first received the assignment I didn't—I didn't know it was you."

"You eventually found out it was and took it anyway. Why?"

"My employer had already revealed too much to me by that point," Arthur lies. "He would have—"

"Arthur," the mark says, the word a caress that's all too familiar and lost none of its seductive quality. "Why did you take this job?"

Before Arthur can betray himself, a tremor rocks the ship--causing them both to stumble. Not strong enough, Arthur notes, for the mark to lose hold of his drink. The effects of the sedative have completely worn off.

"Apologies, Arthur," MAL's tinny electronic voice reverberates through the ship-wide intercom system. "We were about to make starboard contact with a small asteroid. I took corrective action to avoid catastrophic impact."

"It's fine, MAL," Arthur replies into his communicator. "Give me a little warning next time though, alright?"

"Understood."

"Mal," the mark says, regarding Arthur thoughtfully. "Don't tell me you built and named an artificial intelligence after your employer's wife."

"Former employer, which is something you've already figured out by now," Arthur says. "And no, MAL is a droid the human Mal created, named, and gave to me."

"Then you're no longer working with the lunatic Cobb. That's excellent news." 

Arthur snorts at the mark's nearly guileless expression. "While we're on the subject of things you already know: there's a considerable bounty on the leader of the biggest Dream Dust smuggling operation on Chiyoda. You can't tell me this is the first time someone's ever taken a crack at claiming that money."

"No, but it is the first time someone from my past has come to try." The mark takes a step towards the bars and Arthur abruptly realizes how close they are—too close. "And here I'd hoped you'd simply come for _me_."

"It's been five years since you left, Eames," Arthur says, regret rising up as soon as the words leave his mouth. "You think I'd still be chasing after you?"

"Has it been that long?" Eames' fingers reach out to graze a bar of his cage. "You don't look a day older."

Arthur had been so careful to keep his distance, and yet here he is. Perhaps it was inevitable that he'd be lured into this dance with Eames again, and was only ever deluding himself about his ability to resist. "You've gotten more tattoos and built an entire smuggling empire."

"I wouldn't describe it as an empire," Eames says. "A smallish territory, perhaps."

"Modesty? From you?" 

"I suppose I feel a bit more secure after creating something worth commenting upon," Eames says, expression softening into something thoughtful. "Perhaps a feeling you can understand now that you're out from Cobb's shadow."

"This isn't an invitation to reminisce and reflect. Let's not pretend we're here for some sweet reunion to talk about the good old days." 

"Darling—"

"Don't call me that." Arthur's startled by the vehemence in his own voice. "There's nothing between us anymore."

"Is that why you tracked me down?" Eames asks, unbearably gentle. Unbearably knowing. "Is that why you found me?"

"The bounty isn't anything to sneeze at."

"There are other bounties. You didn't need this one." Before Arthur can summon a rebuttal, Eames switches tack abruptly. "Have you ever taken Dream Dust, Arthur?"

"A few times." Arthur eyes him suspiciously. "Why?"

"With the PASIV, you can create any reality you wish, be with anyone you desire." Eames meets Arthur's eyes again. "Do you know what I wished for?"

"No idea."

"The day we met," Eames says quietly, "you came up behind me and I never saw you coming. I hated it then, how you could get the jump on me, but I've dreamt about it countless times. That I'd be walking down an empty road and suddenly you'd be walking beside me again, as if you'd never been away."

"This would be much more moving if I weren't still alive and well," Arthur spits out, anger coiling in his gut. "This doesn't go just one way. You were the one that left, and you could have found me anytime you wanted to."

"I couldn’t, because I was running for my bloody life," Eames says, taking a step forward. "Five years ago, a local crime lord became displeased with my encroachment on his smuggling territory, which led to a strong desire to see my head mounted on a pike. In an effort to keep my appendages from being separated from my body, I fled."

"And you couldn't have told me about this then?"

"There wasn't any time—you were away on another colony, do you remember?"

"How could I not?" Arthur asks, bitterness curling his lip. "I ask you to take a trip with me, you say no, and when I come back you're gone."

"You really think I'd disappear off the face of a colony simply because I grew tired of you?" 

Arthur raises his chin. "You've done it before."

Eames stares back at Arthur for a long minute before looking away. "Yes, I suppose I have."

Arthur turns, and begins to walk towards the door. "Goodbye, Eames."

"I searched for you, you know. Once the coast was relatively clear and that crime lord thought I was dead. When I returned to Beimini you'd already moved on and so had the Cobbs. I tried to track you down, but you know I've always been rubbish at that sort of thing." Eames chuckles softly. "I suppose it only makes sense that you would be the one to find me, after all these years."

"I don't believe you," Arthur says, levelly. Another tremor passes through the ship and before MAL can comm., he says, "No more ship-wide communications, MAL. I'm coming down to the cockpit."

* * * * *

There isn't much for Arthur to do besides wait, truth be told. More asteroids have appeared, forcing MAL to take corrective measures in the ship's trajectory. Arthur's human reflexes and limited sensory information would only get in the way.

MAL is brutally efficient in managing operations on top of that, leaving Arthur a few routine maintenance checks to run and not much else. He keeps an eye on the video feed of the cell, but to his surprise, Eames doesn't attempt to escape. Instead, Eames finishes his water, goes back to his cot, and sits down, cross-legged.

When Arthur returns to the holding bay an hour later, Eames is still seated docilely. "If you want more water, give me your glass," Arthur says.

"More water would be deeply appreciated," Eames says, unfolding neatly.

As Arthur reaches out to take the empty container, Eames' grip 'slips' in time to catch against Arthur's fingers, grasp more than idle. "Eames," Arthur says warningly, but Eames immediately backs away with his hands in the air, palms and wrists exposed.

Arthur leaves the glass in the galley and switches to a disposable and less-easy-to-weaponize cup. Eames raises an eyebrow, but makes no comment.

"Thank you," Eames says as he downs half the water in one neat swallow.

"You're welcome," Arthur says curtly, readying himself to leave.

"What did you dream about when you went under?" Eames asks, and at Arthur's blank look elaborates, "You said you've used Dream Dust before. What did you dream about?"

"I don't remember," Arthur says. "It was a long time ago."

"At first, I dreamt about the most fantastical things. Bizarre settings, grand adventures, wild perversions." Eames sighs. "One tires of such things quickly, though, and the mind has a limited capacity for inventing anything truly novel. Thus I found myself dwelling on the past, recreating memories I didn’t have the good sense to appreciate when were originally created. Rather maudlin, really."

"What happened to that empty road?"

"It always led to memories with you," Eames says without missing a beat. "I know you don't believe me, and you're probably right not to. But I am happy to see you again, even I wish it were under different circumstances."

Arthur stares at the security camera hidden in the top right corner of the cell. He can't remember the last time he slept in the cot. "My dreams were pretty incoherent. I thought I was going one way, turns out I was going another. I'd be doing one thing and then it'd shift into something else. Didn't have enough access to Somnacin to learn to control it."

"I think you'd love it if you could." Eames finishes his water and approaches the bars, approaches Arthur. "There's nothing like dreamsharing once you learn how."

Arthur stares at Eames' empty cup, his outstretched arm, the intricate rivers of ink running up and down his skin. They have only a few hours left. "Are you offering to teach me?"

"If you'd care to be taught." Eames smiles, seems completely unsurprised when Arthur opens the cell and steps in.

Arthur shuts the door behind him while Eames stays still, and quiet. "It's no small thing, allowing someone into my mind."

"If you let me in, you won't regret it," Eames says, voice barely a murmur as Arthur comes closer.

"No," Arthur says when he reaches Eames, using one hand to crush the empty cup between their palms. "I think I'd regret it very much."

And then Arthur kisses him.

Eames' mouth is as soft and full as ever, kisses welcoming and thorough. He's broader, bulkier than he used to be, firm muscle definition under Arthur's palms. His touch is as sly as it ever was, ostensibly allowing Arthur to lead him backwards towards the cot while his fingers deftly undo Arthur's pants.

"No," Arthur says, when Eames goes to pull off the vest Arthur's wearing. It's bulletproof, deflects most blades, and the fabric's barely a centimeter thick, molded to Arthur's torso.

Eames runs a palm down the length of Arthur's sternum over the vest. "You don't really think I could hurt you here, do you?"

"I think," Arthur starts as he flicks open the buttons of Eames' ridiculously translucent shirt, "you should take off all your clothes."

"Direct as always," Eames murmurs as he arches out of his shirt, chest muscular and lightly haired and absolutely mouthwatering. "I'd forgotten how much I like that."

Arthur can't help but bend down to fasten his mouth around a nipple, lick and bite until Eames gasps, hips grinding up. Arthur gets so caught up in sucking that Eames' hands against on his ass are a surprise, almost as surprising as the scrape of his bare cock against Eames'. He shouldn't be shocked about being naked from the waist down with no warning; Eames always was light with his fingers whenever he wanted to be.

"Fuck," Arthur whispers, trying to breathe through the almost-too-rough-friction between them.

"Let's," Eames replies, nipping at Arthur's earlobe. 

"Yeah," Arthur whispers, and grabs a condom from his discarded pants.

"Prepared for any eventuality, I see." Eames sounds amused as he takes the condom packet from Arthur's fumbling fingers. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not in the least."

Eames grins as he fits the condom into his mouth, then bends down to roll the length of it down Arthur's cock in one smooth motion.

"That's—that's new," Arthur murmurs, faint. He'd forgotten what it was like to have that mouth—that gorgeous, talented mouth—wrapped around his cock.

It's gone too quickly, replaced by a steadying hand around the base of Arthur's cock as Eames settles his weight on top of Arthur. "Don't move," Eames breathes out as he begins to sink down, "until I say so."

It feels amazing, familiar, unsettling. Arthur looks up at Eames and is abruptly reminded of why he'd promised himself he wouldn't do this. 

"One last shag before you send me off the lion's den." Eames grins at Arthur, sharp and smug. "That's why you took this job, isn't it?"

Arthur wishes they were in a different position, that Eames couldn't see him, that he wasn't so exposed. But he puts on his poker face and does his best. "Sex and money—what could be better?"

Eames grins, not seeming to catch on. Arthur reaches out stroke Eames' cock, which is pointed northwards along his belly and leaking precome steadily. As he toys with the foreskin, Eames lets out a breathy gasp that's almost a laugh and says, "You've learned some new tricks, too, Arthur."

"Yeah, I have." Arthur rolls his hips up slightly and watches as Eames' mouth falls open, head lolling back. "Let me show you."

Arthur does: decisive thrusts upwards, not too deep, quick enough for Eames' cut-off moans to morph into one long, continuous one. Eames' eyes roll back in pleasure, grip tightening on Arthur's shoulders almost painfully. Arthur lets go of Eames' dick, watches in satisfaction as it smacks back against Eames' stomach, harder and redder than ever.

"I'm almost—" Eames is slurring his words now, eyelids fluttering as he struggles to focus enough to communicate, "I'm close—"

"Come on," Arthur says, not slowing the pace of his hips. He savors the way Eames looks on top of him, muscles tensing, a trail of sweat making its way between his pectorals, down his abdomen. He looks pleasure-drunk, as wild and uncontainable as he'd ever been.

Eames orgasms with a hoarse groan, come splattering across his chest. He shudders for a full minute afterwards while Arthur slows, rubs his fingers soothingly along Eames' thighs.

When Eames opens his eyes, his expression is sleepy, satisfied. "There we are."

Arthur reaches out to rest a thumb against Eames' lower lip, is gratified when Eames opens his mouth for it with no further prompting. "The sex wasn't like this when you left."

"No, but we'd been together for a year by then. Things were bound to slow down." Eames slides off of Arthur's lap, voice gratifyingly muzzy. "Couldn't stay this frantic forever."

Arthur exhales deeply as Eames sucks Arthur's dick down without hesitation or teasing. He's not going to last long. He puts a hand in Eames' hair and tugs lightly. "Gonna come."

Eames nods and continues to bob over Arthur's cock, wonderful heat and wetness and suction. No fancy technique; Arthur doesn't need it. He comes with a shudder.

When Arthur opens his eyes, Eames is sitting up and stretching. There's an obscene trickle of come down his chin. When he catches Arthur staring, Eames grins and leans forward for Arthur to lick it away. It's warm, it's lewd, it's disgustingly hot.

Eames lies down on top of Arthur. "Do you ravish all of your prisoners like this?"

Arthur feels sweaty and tired, vest uncomfortably slick against his skin. Eames' considerable bulk would make it difficult for Arthur to shove him off, leave the cage without having to incapacitate him. He takes a deep breath. "Not exactly like this, no."

Eames hums approvingly. "I'd forgotten how good it could be with you."

Arthur strokes the soft hair at the nape of Eames' neck. "Yeah, towards the end it was…"

"Growing rather dull." Eames burrows further into Arthur's embrace. "I'm certainly not bored now, though."

Arthur closes his eyes, forces his breaths to deepen, but doesn't sleep. He feels Eames begin to relax on top of him, body turning to dead weight as he drifts into unconsciousness. Arthur has his answers now; Eames' careless, post-coital candor as revealing as Arthur remembered. Arthur got everything he wanted, except it hasn't changed anything.

He rolls Eames gently off him and gets to his feet. He slips into pants and shoes, not quietly enough to avoid waking Eames.

"Leaving already?" Eames' tone is playful, but there's something wary and considering underneath it. "I don't mind the snoring, you know that, darling."

"Don't call me that," Arthur repeats, tiredly. He supposes he should be angry, but it's as if all the anger has burned out in the past ten hours with Eames.

Eames sits up, visible worry flickering across his face. "What's wrong, Arthur? I thought—"

"You were bored." 

"I—"

Arthur shakes his head. "You left. I was—I was in love with you and you left because you were bored."

"Love." Eames rolls the word down his tongue, as if testing it. "You never said."

"Would it have made a difference?"

Eames is silent for a long minute. "No. It wouldn't have."

Arthur walks to the cage door, relieved that Eames doesn't move to follow. 

"Dossarian is real," Eames says. "The crime lord that chased me off Beimini. You can track him down and ask about me if you'd like. I—I did consider telling you before I left."

"It doesn't matter," Arthur says. The truth—or whatever murky, half-lie that passes for it—makes no difference when it comes to Eames. "My employer is a man who goes by the name of Saito. You might have heard of him—he owns nearly all of Edo. I'll be transferring you to his cargo ship, which will bring you back to his heavily fortified base. I don't know how many people will be manning the cargo ship, but it's designed to be inconspicuous and avoid arousing attention with unusual crew numbers or technology."

Arthur opens the door and walks through, shutting it behind him. "Goodbye, Eames."

Perhaps Eames has something to say after that. Arthur doesn't stay to listen.

* * * * *

_THREE DAYS LATER_

 

"Arthur," Saito says, the image of his face filling the viewing screen.

"Saito," Arthur replies, tone careful and polite. "Is there something wrong?"

"Eames never made it to my compound," Saito says. "The crew of my vessel tell me it's as if he vanished into space during his journey."

Arthur frowns. "At the hand-off—"

"The blame rests entirely upon the crew's shoulders," Saito replies, waving Arthur's concerns away impatiently. "I immediately sent my men to the coordinates on Kitanomaru that you provided, but his base had already been stripped and abandoned."

Arthur swallows. "I see. Would you like me to continue looking for him?"

"Your contract with me has been satisfied and you have been paid in full," Saito says. "Eames knows your face now, which will make him more likely to run should your paths cross again. I have engaged the services of someone else to help track him down." 

"I see." Arthur forces his face to remain expressionless, immobile. "Please contact me know if I can be of any further assistance."

"Yes," Saito says, seeming to have lost interest in the conversation already. "That will be all."

* * * * *

"All records of Eames' time aboard this ship has been destroyed, correct?"

"Yes, Arthur," MAL replies. "Would you like for me to delete the dossier you compiled on him as well?"

Across the viewing screen flashes a photo of Eames. His back is to the camera, face caught in profile as he looks off into the distance, at something out of frame. "No," Arthur says, after a pause. "No, that's fine."

"Noted," MAL says. "You also received a package today."

"I wasn’t expecting mail. From who?" 

"Unknown. The sender went to great pains to remain anonymous. I've scanned it for any known threats and all results came back negative. However, given the constantly evolving state of weaponry across the galaxy, I placed it in the holding bay and recommend caution if you choose to open it."

Arthur goes to the holding bay and opens the package near a trash chute, ready to flush it into space at the first sign of trouble. All it contains, however, is a familiar silver briefcase and a note.

"Come find me, darling," the note reads, "I'll teach you how to dream again."

fin


End file.
